Shadow witness

CHAPTER SEVEN

.en he reached the top of the well, Gale climbed over the side and sprinted as fast as he could down Winding Way, away from the vileness of the guildhouse, away from the evil of Yrsillar. Minutes or hours later, he finally stopped, exhausted. The cold air stung the tender skin of his charred face. His heart raced and his gasping breath formed great clouds of frost before his face.

Get yourself under control, he ordered himself If they were coming, they'd already be here. With an effort, he calmed himself He had to use his right hand to peel his left fist from the hilt of his sheathed long sword. Only then did he remember that he had no cloak. Adrenaline had warmed him, but now he began to feel winter's chill. His armor and clothing held off much of the cold, but he would have to buy a cloak when Selgaunt's shops opened.

They're not coming, he assured himself again, and crossed his arms against the cold. At least not yet.

Back in control of himself he bent against Hie wind and sloshed through Selgaunt's empty streets. He kicked about with mild surprise-the towering brick buildings of the Warehouse District loomed on all sides. He had run halfway across the city-and it was no coincidence he had run in the direction of Stormweather. The Uskevren manse stood only blocks north of him, on Sam Street.

At that moment, the fact that he could no longer return to the familiar comfort of his room hit him hard. He could not return to the welcoming warmth of Thazienne's smile. He had nowhere to go.

I can't go back, he reminded himself again, reaffirming his decision. At least not yet, and especially not now. The risk to the family was too great.

While Gale did not yet fully understand everything that had happened at the guildhouse, he understood enough to know that Yrsillar had targeted him personally. The demon's words rattled around in his head like a pair of knucklebones-Champion, of Mask. You and the other..

What did that mean? If anyone, the Righteous Man was Mask's Champion, or had been. He was the priest, not Gale. Gale invoked the gods only to oath by their names. He had never even prayed to one, had been in a church only twice in his lifetime. He consciously kept gods and temples at a distance. He stayed out of their business and they stayed out of his.

Still, Gale could not deny the magical darkness that had suddenly appeared in Mask's shrine. Only he had been able to see through it. That certainly seemed a divine blessing of sorts.

Perhaps it was, he reluctantly acknowledged. But how can I be the servant of a god? Much less a god's Champion?

He found the idea so improbable as to be laughable, and yet thinking of it brought him a strange exhilaration and a peculiar fear. He had no desire to surrender himself to the whims of a god. Still…

Would it be so improbable? He had been the servant of someone or other most of his adult life-the Night Masks, the Righteous Man, Thamalon. The difference, of course, was that with all of those masters he had maintained a certain amount of independence. Could he serve a god and still be his own man?

Doesn't matter^ he thought grimly. Tonight's not the night for taking rites. Rather, tonight was a night for retribution. He knew now that the paralyzing fear he had felt back in the guildhouse-the fear that had stolen his resolve and frozen him into inaction-had been supernatural in origin, a function of Yrsillar's demonic nature. Gale would be ready for it next time.

He also knew that it had been Yrsillar, and not the Righteous Man, who had ordered the attack on Storm-weather. The attack that had nearly killed Thazienne. For that, Yrsillar would pay, demon or no. Gale only had to figure out how.

He could go to the authorities-after the carnage at Stormweather, even Selgaunt's ruler, the idiotic Hulorn, would not be able to laugh off Gale's claims. Even as he considered it, he dismissed it. It would take the Scepters days to act. It always did. Gale did not want to wait that long.

This is personal now, you bastard, he thought to Yrsillar. Gale's nature did not allow him to turn the problem over to the city authorities. This is between you and me, he mentally reiterated. If Mask wanted to protect his interest in this, he could come along for the ride, but Gale would owe the god nothing.

To the east, the slate sky began to lighten. Dawn was breaking. He had been walking the streets for over an hour. As though awakened by the winter sun, Selgaunt's shops began slowly to come back to Ufa Lights burned in the occasional window as a shopkeeper went about preparing his wares for the day. Gale ducked into the nearest clothier, dug a few five-stars from his pocket, handed them to the startled shopkeeper, and grabbed a blue cloak from among the wares. Too short, as usual, but far warmer than nothing at all.

He emerged onto the street and decided to take a room at the first inn he found. He had nowhere else to go.

Jak. The halfling's name popped into his head as though by divine inspiration. Jak! Of course! Though he hadn't seen the little man since their run-in with Riven and the Zhentarim a month ago, Jak had always stood with him. Jak had also made it clear that he always would. HeGale's assuredness melted like the snow in the street when he remembered that the little man belonged to the Harpers. Gale had learned that during their escape from the Zhentarim. The Harpers, a secretive organization that ostensibly strived for the good, might frown on Gale hunting a demon alone.

Demons, he corrected himself, plural, Ecthaini. He now knew there to be at least two demons in the guildhouse-Yrsillar, and the shadow demon that had attacked Stormweather.

Still, he had to consider the possibility that the Harpers might offer help in the form of intelligence, magic items, or protective spells. If they wouldn't, Gale knew that Jak would help him anyway. The little man had bucked Harper orders before to help him, and would no doubt do so again. He didn't relish the idea of getting Jak into trouble, but the little man was his best friend. Gale's only friend outside of Stormweather. He had nowhere else to turn, and probably only a little time. No doubt Yrsillar and his minions would be searching for him by tomorrow night. He had to find Jak now.

You and the other.

Yrsillar's words floated up from the depths of his mind. Is Jak the other? he wondered. The little man was a priest, after all, but of Brandobaris, not Mask. From what little Gale knew of organized religion, the relationship between the halfling god of thieves and Mask the Shadowlord was not an especially friendly one. Could a priest of one god serve the interests of another?

He shook his head in frustration. He was allowing himself to get distracted. It doesn't matter, he thought. Whether Jak had some special divine role to play or not, Gale needed his help, and he thought he knew where to find the little man.

He turned his face into the snow and headed for the gambling dens of the Wharf District.

In Selgaunt, the gaming houses along Nedreyin Street remained open all day and all night. People of all social backgrounds-nobles, transient adventurers, merchants, rogues-gambled as much as their schedules and finances permitted. Even now, despite the dawn hour and cold weather, Nedreyin Street still had its denizens eager to test Tymora's favor on the throw of knucklebones or deal of cards. As Gale watched, a crowd of five loud men in heavy cloaks and winter boots strode past the burly doorman and into the Leering Basilisk, a low quality establishment without an attached eatery. At the same time, a pair of noblemen-probably second sons, not heirs- walked hangdog out of the Scarlet Knave two doors down, no doubt lighter by a few fivestars.

Not yet extinguished by the city's linkboys, the street lamps sputtered fitfully in the wind blowing off Selgaunt Bay. The smell of sea salt and the reek of the nearby fishmongers' stalls filled the cold air-the bay did not entirely freeze over until early in the month of Alturiak, and the city's fishermen habitually worked the waters to the very last. After the horrors he had witnessed on the-other side of the city, Gale welcomed the sight of human beings involved in mundane human affairs and vices.

He walked down the snow-coated street, wary of the shadows in every dark corner. Despite the cold, sleeping drunkards and men who had gambled away their lodging coin lay huddled and shivering under building eaves. Cale eyed them all with a sharp gaze, sure that their cloaks covered gray skin and sharp claws. His concern proved unwarranted-all of them were harmless.

Searching for word of Jak, he moved quickly from gambling house to gambling house and dropped some fivestars to loosen the tongues of the circumspect bartenders and taciturn doormen. Surprisingly, his coins brought no result-no one had seen the little man. He checked Jak's usual haunts twice-the Scarlet Knave, the Bent Coin, the Cardhouse-and heard from the regulars that no one had seen the halfling for weeks. At that, Cale began to worry. While he hadn't expected to find Jak actually gambling at this hour, he had expected to find his friend collapsed in a suite somewhere. That Jak hadn't been seen at all set off alarms in Gale's head. He knew that Yrsillar and his servants already had hit several players in Selgaunt's underworld-no doubt to draw out or find

Cale and this other. If Jak was the other, perhaps the demon had already gotten to him?

Unwilling to consider the possibility, Cale sat at the polished bar of the Cardhouse and spent a silver raven on a cup of warm spiced wine. He drank it down before he headed back outside. By then, dawn had fully broken and the city's red-cloaked Hnkboys had appeared. Nimbly, they sealed the street torches and snuffed the blazing coals with metal hoods. Though overcast, the light of morning dispelled the shadows of night and Cale breathed easy for the first time since fleeing the guild-house. He thought it unlikely that Yrsillar would dare make any moves in the full light of day.

Now as much worried for Jak's well being as wanting the little man's help, Cale made a hard decision. Though he had promised not to return, he knew where he had to go for information about Jak- the Harper safehouse to which Jak had taken him after the affair with the Zhentarim. Brelgin and the Harpers there would know how to reach Jak. if they still used the safehouse. They had not been pleased when Cale had learned of its location and might have decided to abandon it as compromised.

There's only one way to find that out, he thought.

He walked back through the quickly crowding, snowy streets and headed for the Warehouse District. Once there, he navigated from memory a maze of back alleys, cul-de-sacs, and small storehouses until he reached the one-story Harper safehouse. The ramshackle brick building looked like any number of similar, unnamed office buildings hi the district – inconspicuous for its mundanity. Having once fled with Jak up from Selgaunt's sewers into its basement, Cale knew the structure to have a secret lower level three times the area of the surface.

Through the falling snow, he could see two heavily cloaked men lounging casually against the wooden porch posts. Neither wore visible iron, but their oversized winter cloaks could have concealed a dwarven great axe. Alert expressions and wary eyes belied their uncaring stances-Harper guards. They had to be. So the Harpers did still use the safehouse, and he might still find Jak. He breathed a sigh of relief.

He walked out from the alley and toward the sentries with empty hands in evidence. They stiffened at his approach and stepped down from the porch onto the narrow, unpayed street. Though the guards' cloak hoods shadowed most of their features, Cale still recognized one of the two from his encounter with the Harpers in the sewers. A thin, short fellow with slanted green eyes that indicated an elf ancestor not more than two generations removed. The other guard, a heavyset man of medium height, Cale did not remember. He wasted no time with idle greetings.

"I need to see Brelgin," he announced when he drew close. Prom his previous encounter with the Harpers, Cale knew Brelgin to be in charge of the safehouse. "Now."

"Brelgin?" said the heavyset guard, There's no Brelgin here-"

"Save it," interrupted Cale. "I know what you are and what this building is." He turned to the half-elf, threw back his own hood to reveal his bald head, and asked in elvish, "Do you remember me?"

The half-elfs almond eyes flashed recognition. "I remember you," he replied in common.

"Good," Cale said. "Then maybe you can answer my question and save Brelgin and I the agony of a meeting. I'm looking for Jak Fleet. You know I'm a friend. Where can I find him?"

At the mention of the little man, the half-elf'sexpression grew thoughtful. Cale didn't like his silence.

"What?" Cale asked, alarmed. He advanced a step on the naif-elf and barely resisted fee urge to grab the smaller man by the shoulders and shake him. "What's happened?" Cale had a terrible vision of Jak's small body sucked empty by the shadow demon.

The half-elf'seyes found the street. "You'll have to ask Brelgin, Erevis Cale. It's not my place." He poked a finger into Gale's chest. "Wait here."

"Wait-"

Both Harpers turned, bounded up the porch steps, and vanished into the safehouse.

Concerned, but knowing better than to follow them unasked into the safehouse, Cale walked to the porch, sat on the rail, and awaited Brelgin.

Within a few minutes, the tall Harper leader emerged, hastily wrapped against the cold in a green cloak. Brelgin had shaved his blond beard since last they had met, but Cale could not mistake the arrogance in the Harper leader's eyes. He stood to face him.

"You were told never to come here again, Cale." Brelgin spat Cale's name like a curse. "You could've been followed by one of the snakes you chum with. If you've compromised us," he looked up and down the empty back street, advanced a step, and stared into Cale's face, "111 see to it you're made sorry."

Cale bit back the urge to choke this arrogant ass where he stood. For Jak's sake, he ignored the threat, swallowed his anger, and managed an even tone. "I'm looking for Fleet."

"I know."

Cale scrutinized his race. "Where is he?"

Brelgin hesitated an instant too long before answering. "He's away on organization business."

Cale knew he was lying. He grabbed the Harper leader by the cloak and jerked him close.

"You're lying, and I don't have time for this kind of nonsense. I need to see him. I'm his friend, Brelgin. Even you know that. Where is he?" He shook the Harper leader like a doll.

From within the safehouse, footsteps thumped toward the front door-Harpers rushing to Brelgin's aid. Looking impassively into Cale's face all the while, Brelgin waved them back just as they appeared in the doorway. They backed off.

"Let me go, Gale," he said, softly.

Gale stared at him a long moment, and released him.

Brelgin readjusted his cloak, studied him for a moment, and apparently came to a decision. "Ill get my gear. You want to see him that bad, 111 take you to him."

Brelgin led Gale north through the city. Despite the snow, cold, and early morning hour, Selgaunt had now come fully back to life. Nobles' carriages slowly navigated the slush of the streets. Patrols of the city watch, Selgaunt's Scepters, trooped past in their red tabards. Merchants hawked their wares1 from shop doors to passersby. Street vendors pushed their carts through the slush. Customers rich and poor shopped, haggled, and bought. To all appearances, the city seemed perfectly normal. Except for the demons that murdered by night.

Despite his dislike for Brelgin, Gale felt obligated to let the Harper leader know about Yrsillar. He drew close to avoid eavesdroppers and spoke in a low tone, wasting no words.

"Listen, Brelgin, the Righteous Man is dead." At that, Brelgin raised his brows thoughtfully.

"Some kind of demon has taken over the guild. It has turned the guildsmen into ghouls." When he said it aloud, it sounded so far-fetched as to be ridiculous, but he plowed on. "I dont know how it happened, maybe one of the Righteous Man's summonings went wrong. But whatever the cause, I think all the recent hits in the underworld have been this demon's doing. It has another demon serving it, a shadow that does its killing. I'm not sure-"

Brelgin cut him off in a tone colder than the whiter air. "Sounds like a problem for you and yours, Gale. None of mine have been hit by this shadow. And if it's killing criminals, I don't want to stop it. I want to recruit it."

Gale could not believe his ears. He grabbed the Harper leader by the arm, jerked him around, and pulled him to a stop. His voice rose with his anger.

"Can you possibly be that stupid? This tiling isn't going to stop with criminals. If'snot ever going to stop, not unless someone stops it. Blast you-^" He lowered his voice as a fat, middle-aged housewife and her young son passed by and looked at them askance. "Nine Hells, man, it hit Stormweather last night. There aren't any criminals there."

"Except you," Brelgin snapped, and jerked his arm free of Cale's grip.

That hit Gale square in his gut. Trying to mask his shame with anger, he advanced on Brelgin until he stood nose to nose.

"Listen, you arrogant ass, there's no telling what this tiung will do next. But you can be damned sure that it'll be coming for yours soon enough. You think the Harpers are immune?" He scoffed. "If you've avoided it up to now, you've just been lucky."

Brelgin returned Cale's glare and didn't retreat a handspan. "Until it does," he said tightly, "it's your problem." He spun on his heel and walked off. Stewing, Cale followed. •

For a long tame, they walked through the crowded streets in silence. Cale could not understand the Harper leader's indifference. Yrsillar might eventually pose a threat to the entire city.

Is it just personal antagonism? he wondered. Or orders from higher up in the organization? Either way, he found it incomprehensible. Seething more and more with each step he took, he finally could no longer hold his anger at bay.

"You and the Harpers are a bad joke," he snapped, walking beside Brelgin but not looking at him. "You've got everyone thinking that you work for the good- whatever that even is-but when I tell you about a demon running rampant in the city, you tefl me that I'm on my own." He shook his head. "You think that's working for the good? I know thieves with more courage and more sense. You and your crew are nothing more than a bunch of little boys toying to protect your reputations and play at being men."

That stopped Brelgin cold. He whirled on Cale, a snarl on his face. "What do you know about anything good, Cale?" he spat. "You're a Night Mask murderer."

At that, Cale recoiled a step. Surprise wiped away his self-satisfaction.

"That's right, we know all about your background, all about your past in Westgate." He jabbed a finger into Gale's chest. "I don't need to hear lectures on what*s good from an assassin." Brelgin turned and stomped off

Too stunned and angry to speak, Cale continued on silently after him. It doesn't matter who knows now, he thought bitterly. Thamalon already knows. If'sall ending soon anyway, one way or another.

It hurt Cale to think such thoughts, but there it was.

He no longer had anyone he needed to hide his past from-though his deepest secret remained his own. Brelgin and the Harpers knew only that he had been a Night Mask. Not his relationship to the organization. If they had known that…

He pushed through the crowd at a jog and fell into step beside the Harper leader.

Tension hung thick between them, and neither man said another word as they continued northward through the city. Expecting to be led to another Harper safehouse, Cale felt surprised and worried when the tall, beautifully crafted churches of the Temple District came into view.

"The Temple District?" he asked Brelgin.

"You'll see soon enough," grunted the Harper leader. They turned onto the Avenue of Temples.

Though a few shrines had been raised in other parts of Selgaunt, most had been built on the north side of the city, in the five large blocks known as the Temple District. For as far as Cale could see, spires, domes, bell towers, gold gilt work, statuary, and stained glass dominated the horizon. In the distance, the festive bells of the towering temple of LUir a pealed forth and sent the cheer of the Revelmistress speeding into the sky. To his right, the soft ring of chimes sounded from within the small shrine dedicated to Lathander the Morninglord. A crowd of faithful thronged the avenue. The low murmur of their voices mixed with the bells, chimes, and gongs created an unintentional but strangely harmonious orchestra of the devout.

Having deliberately avoided ever setting foot on the Avenue of Temples, Cale found the architectural variety of the temples surprising. The structure of the churches varied so much that the street looked a bit of a hodgepodge. Some had been crafted of granite, some of limestone, and still others of brick. Each had a different layout-here a dome, there a tower, there a squat rectangle. Still, Gale had to admit that the architectural dissonance had a symbolic beauty all its own-the various churches of the gods co-existed in peace on the Avenue of Temples. If only Selgaunt's underworld were so understanding.

At many of the church doors, worshipers already gathered for morning services. Monks and priests greeted the faithful as they entered. Clouds of incense smoke wafted from open doors and dispersed in the cool air.

Cale noted that few carriages drove the avenue and most of the worshipers awaiting entry wore the clothes of commoners. He would have expected as much. Typically, the nobility had private shrines built within their manses, and when necessary, they could buy direct access to a high priest. In Selgaunt, wealth bought blessings as easily as it did bread.

Shaking his head ruefully, Cale trekked up the avenue behind Brelgin.

When the smooth marble walls of the temple of Deneir came into view, the Harper leader veered directly for it. Cale followed, his worry growing for his friend.

Shaped from slabs of gray granite and green marble-both stones quarried from the majestic Thunder Peaks twenty miles to the north of the city-the Godscribe's two-story, rectangular temple stood open to the street. Though it wore a welcoming stair and beautifully columned portico, no worshipers waited outside to be allowed entry.

Unsurprising, Cale thought. As part of his Night Mask linguistic training back in Westgate, he had been tutored by a mage who had worshiped Deneir-a half-blind academic named Theevis who spoke as many languages as Cale had birthdays. From Theevis, he had learned that the faith of the Godscribe appealed mostly to scholars, not commoners.

A marble frieze ran along the top of the temple wall, inscribed with Deneir's praises in more scripts than even Cale could recognize. Two marble statues, each of an intense, elderly man poring over an open tome, flanked the closed double doors. Above the doors, a phrase had been inscribed in the common tongue-To Preserve Knowledge is to Serve Men and Gods. Brelgin jogged up the stairs, pushed open the double doors, and walked through. Cale followed. "Erevia Cale had been in only two temples in his life, and both of those had been furnished with pews, an offering box, a raised pulpit, and an altar. As far as he could see, Deneir's temple had none of those. The place looked more of a library than a worship hall. Desks and worn tables filled the carpeted room, each covered in papers, scrolls, inkpots, and open tomes. Tall shelves filled with books stood along the back wall. Chandeliers and three blazing hearths provided heat and light by which to study. The place smelled of ink, leather, and allorath leaf, an herbal paper preservative used by scribes and sages.

Of the handful of faithful who sat at the desks and studied lost lore, none so much as glanced up when Cale and Brelgin entered.

A tonsured acolyte in a black and white diagonally striped cloak cleared his throat and smiled at them from his table just inside the doors.

"Do you require a table, sirs?" he softly asked. "No, thank you," Brelgin replied in equally soft tones. "We're actually here to meet someone." He gave the acolyte a smile and they walked past.

As they navigated the maze of tables and readers, Cale quietly stated, "This isn't like any temple I've ever seen."

Brelgin harrumphed as though he found it surprising that Gale had seen the inside of any temples at all.

"This isn't the worship hall, Gale. This is only the lending library. The Deneirrath grant anyone access to these writings and charge only what the borrower can afford."

Gale nodded appreciatively. If times had been different, he could have enjoyed himself greatly here. It reminded him of Thamalon's library in Stormweather.

He followed Brelgin across the library floor to the rows of tall shelves that lined the back of the room. There, they found seated at a desk a middle-aged priestess clad in a turquoise robe. She pored over an ancient book, muttering to herself as she read, and occasionally wrote furiously on a separate piece of parchment. Gale and Brelgin stood before her for a few moments before she finally noticed them and looked up.

A striking woman with short blonde hair, a strong mouth, and crows' feet around her intelligent eyes, she took them in and raised her eyebrows in question. Before she could speak, Brelgin bowed slightly, indicated Gale, and said in a whisper, "Priest Librarian Elaena, this is Erevis Gale."

She set down her writing quill, rose with austere dignity, and nodded solemnly at Gale. "Well met, Mister Gale."

"Priestess.''

"Priest, Mister Gale. Our titles are the same, irrespective of gender."

Gale bowed. "Of course."

Brelgin continued, "Forgive the intrusion during your study hours, Priest Librarian, but Mister Gale wishes to see Jak Fleet. He's…" Brelgin cast a sidelong glance at Gate, "a friend."

Surprised by Brelgin's acknowledgment and soft tone, Gale gave him a grateful nod.

Priest Librarian Elaena smiled and looked right through Gale. "Of course he is." She covered the inkpot she had been using, marked her place in her tome with a flat, silver rod, and started to walk off. "Follow me, gentlemen, we've moved him to a room usually used for transient brethren traveling through the city and staying for only a short while." Gale and Brelgin followed.

Walking with a deliberateness that wasn't quite grace, the priest librarian led them through a confusing maze of narrow, candlelit corridors and rooms. Books, scrolls, and tapestries abounded. The place seemed near to bursting with the written word. Gale would have loved to stop and look, but couldn't for worry for his friend.

Elaena took them down a flight of spiral stairs until they reached what Gale took to be the residence hall of the temple. She walked to one of the paneled doors that lined the hall at intervals and knocked softly. After a moment, another tonsured acolyte opened the door and stuck his head out.

"Greetings, Aret," the priest librarian said. "Only knowledge is lasting."

"Greetings, Priest Librarian," the acolyte responded. "Only learning is worthwhile."

Apparently satisfied with the acolyte's ritual response, the priest librarian indicated Gale and Brelgin. "They have come to see Mr. Fleet."

Aret the acolyte, a slightly overweight young man with a soft face and softer eyes, nodded and stepped out of the room. "I'm afraid there hasn't been much change," he said to Brelgin.

The Harper leader nodded solemnly but otherwise made no reply.

"Well leave you alone," announced the priest librarian. "Stay as long as you like. Come with me, Aret."

With that, the priest turned and walked back down the hall, Aret in tow. Apprehensive, Gale walked into the room. Brelgin followed and closed foe door behind them.

Covered in sweat-soaked sheets, Jak lay unconscious on a plain wooden bed and straw-filled mattress. Gale took a deep breath and approached the bed slowly. The little man's ashen face looked drawn and thin. The Deneirrath must have been force feeding him bread and water, but little more. He looked to have lost considerable weight. His red hair lay pasted by sweat against his scalp and his breathing came in irregular, ragged heaves. The little man's plight reminded Gale so much of Thazienne lying stricken in her bed at Stormweather that he had to steady himself with the headboard to avoid falling down.

"What happened to him?" Gale asked, though he already suspected the answer.

Brelgin stood beside him and looked down on the bed. "He stumbled into the safehouse a tenday ago, incoherent, babbling about the night with yellow eyes. Then he fell unconscious. He's been like this ever since. The priest librarian says his body is whole. It's his soul that's wounded. They haven't been able to do anything for him."

Gale heard the genuine concern for Jak in Brelgin's commanding voice. The tall Harper leader cared for the little man. He also heard in Brelgin's description confirmation of his theory. Jak had been attacked by the demon, too.

The night with yellow eyes, Brelgin," Gale observed. "A wounded soul. That can only be the shadow demon. I've seen it. It has yellow eyes and it feeds on human souls." He banished the image of those hate-filled, ochre orbs and turned to face the Harper leader. Gale tried to keep the self-righteousness out of his voice. "Looks like the demon is a Harper problem after all."

Brelgin looked taken aback at that. His gaze went back and forth from Jak to Gale, his face flushed red. Abashed, he fumbled with an explanation.

"If'snot that I don't want to help you, Gale. Really. I would if I could." His voice lowered to an intense whisper and he unconsciously made helpless gestures with his hands. "But I've got only a handful of agents in the city." He nodded knowingly when Gale shook his head and began to protest. "I know what the rumors say, Gale. I helped spread most of them. We need our rivals to think our numbers large, but the truth is I've got less than ten operators at my disposal." He shook his head as though inwardly reaffirming his decision. "I just can't risk them hunting a demon. This city has too many other problems."

Gale considered that. He stared at Brelgin thoughtfully, took a new measure of the man who just had taken such a great risk by offering sensitive information to an outsider. "I understand," Gale said after a moment, and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. "We all do what we have to."

Brelgin nodded but said nothing.

Ill do it alone, then, Gale thought, and tried to ignore the nervous flutter that churned his stomach. He only now realized how much he had been counting on Jak's assistance, and company. I would have welcomed your sense of humor, my friend, he thought with a smile.

He bent over the little man's bed and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Despite the perspiration, Jak's skin felt ice cold. Gale fluffed the feather pillow and pulled the coarse wool blanket up under the little man's whiskered chin. There was nothing else he could do here.

This is one more debt I'm going to make you account for, Yrsillar, he vowed.

He stood, but placed a hand on Jak's clammy forehead before leaving. "Get well, my friend." With that, he turned to leave. Brelgin grabbed him gently by the bicep.

"What now?" asked the Harper leader.

Gale almost laughed aloud. "Now," he replied grimly, I'm going back to the guildhouse and collecting on a debt."

"Alone?"

"Alone. I've got no one else." And nothing more to lose, he thought.

He had a brief flash of hope when he thought Brelgin might change his mind and offer him Harper aid. After a brief inner struggle that Gale could see written on his stern face, the Harper leader merely nodded. He did not meet Gale's eyes. •

Tymora favoryou," Brelgin said, obviously uncomfortable.

Gale chuckled mirthlessly. Til be looking for the blessings of darker gods than Lady Luck, Brelgin. I appreciate the thought, though." He turned and strode for the door.

A weak, hoarse voice stopped him.

"Gale."

Jak! He whirled around to see the halfling's eyes flutter open, Jak struggled to blink away a tenday of sleep from his eyes and focus on Gale.

"Little man!" Gale exclaimed.

"Fleet!" Brelgin shouted. Both rushed to Jak's bedside.

Seeing the surprising sight of Brelgin standing beside Gale, Jak gave a weak smile. "The room doesn't seem big enough for both of you at once." His green eyes fixed laughingly on Gale. "You become a Harper while I was out?" He chuckled, but his laughter turned into a fit of wet coughing. Alarmed, Gale shoved Brelgin toward the door.

"Get the priest librarian, man!"

"Right," the Harper leader agreed, and shot out of the room.

After the coughing fit had passed, Jak's hand came out from under the blanket and fumbled for Gale's wrist. The skin of his hand already felt warmer. "There was a shadow, Erevis" he croaked. "It… t-t-touched m-me." Jak began to shudder, uncontrollable trembles that shook his small body from head to toe.

"Easy Jak, easy," Gale tucked the blankets tighter about the hauling. He placed a comforting hand on Jak's shoulder and waited for the shuddering fit to pass. When it did, Gale looked his friend in the face.

"I've seen the shadow too, Jak," he said. "It attacked Stormweather last night. And it touched me too."

He had been prepared to leave it at that, but Jak's eyebrows rose with an unspoken question.

"It was bad," Gale acknowledged with a nod and a sigh. "Right in the middle of a celebration. No weapons allowed, the house guard ill prepared, lots of drink. The demon came with a pack of ghouls and swarmed the house. Lots of people were killed…"

He trailed off, remembering. Jak squeezed his hand to bring him back to himself. "But none of the Uskevren, thankfully. Thazienne was hurt by the demon, like you. But she's going to be all right. And so are you." By saying it aloud, he hoped he made it more likely.

"Dark," Jak breathed. "I'm sorry, Gale. I know how you feel about her." He patted Gale's hand sympathetically.

"I know where the demon is. I'm putting an end to it tonight."

Jak's tired eyes went wide at that, but before he could say anything, Brelgin and Priest Librarian Elaena ran into the room.

Surprised, Elaena stopped halfway to the bed. The Scribe's quill," she oathed. "It truly is a miracle. Even the High Scrivener's prayers have been unable to help. What did you do?" she asked Gale.

"Nothing," he replied. Cale looked at his hand, the hand he had touched Jak with and wished him to be well. "Nothing…"

"A miracle then," she said perfunctorily. Her hand went to the golden holy symbol of Deneir that hung about her neck. She caressed it lightly, mouthed a prayer under her breath, and approached the bed.

Stepping in front of Gale, she began immediately to fuss with Jak like a mother hen tending her chick-she felt his forehead, held his wrist, put her ear to his chest, pulled up his eyelid"Hey!"

Cale smiled. Jak would recover fine.

After a few more prods and protesting squeals, Priest Librarian Elaena stood, placed a finger to her lips, and cocked her head thoughtfully. "I can't explain it," she said with a smile. "But he is recovered. He still needs rest but-don't sit up, young man," she ordered Jak, who had kicked off the blankets and was trying to sit upright.

Stubborn as always, Jak ignored her and sat up. His green eyes found Gale. I'm with you, Cale. When you go after this thing, I want to be with you."

Gale started to deny him but stopped before the words reached his tongue. If their situation had been reversed-if he had been wounded but knew that Jak was going into danger alone-Cale would have made the same offer. That's what friends did for one another. He would not diminish their relationship with a refusal.

Besides, deep in his heart, he wanted Jak with him.

I'm with you," Jak insisted again.

Cale looked to Brelgin. The Harper leader did not meet his eye and kept his stern face expressionless. Cale looked back to Jak.

"All right," he said with a grateful smile. "You're with me."

Instantly, he felt lighter. He would not have to face Yrsillar alone. Jak would stand with him.

Jak smiled and hopped to the floor. His legs wobbled but he steadied himself with the bed and kept his feet beneath him.

"Stop right there,"'commanded Elaena in the stern tone of a person used to being obeyed. She shot a glare at Gala "I will not allow him to leave here and go running about the city doing gods-only-knows with you. He is still not well." She turned and pushed a protesting Jak back into the bed. "You still need rest, young man."

"Priest*-" Jak objected.

"Enough, woman," Cale said firmly, and interposed himself between them. "Enough. He's not a boy."

That's right," Jak piped.

Jak's high-pitched, indignant tone brought a smile to both Cale and Elaena. "Well wait until tomorrow," Gale assured her, "but we've got business after that. All right?"

She must have seen the resolve in his face. "All right," she reluctantly agreed.

Brelgin, too, must have seen Gale's resolve. Without a word, he walked from the room.

Now dressed in his street clothes and equipped with his gear, Jak stopped talking in order to shovel in more of the bread, cheese, and dried meat the Deneirrath acolytes had set before him on a small table. Famished, Gale helped himself to some of the board as well. Brelgin had considerately left them alone.

"You know," Jak said around a mouthful of goat cheese, "I could use a spell to summon up a better meal than this."

Cale shook his head while tearing into a piece of peppered jerky. "This is fine. Save your strength."

Jak nodded agreement and continued to eat. When only crumbs remained, he eased back in his chair, pulled his pipe from a belt pouch, tamped, and lit up. Cale found the smell of the little man's tobacco comfortingly familiar.

"Yrsfllar," Jak said thoughtfully. He pronounced the name as though it left a bad taste in his mouth. "And he's in the Night Knife guildhouse? With another demon?"

Cale nodded and the little man let out a low whistle.

"It'll be a hard go," Jak said softly.,Cale nodded again. "Harder than you think, even." He related to Jak the details of his experience in the warped guildhouse-the gore, the stink, the palpable evil that polluted the place like a vile fog.

"Dark," Jak oathed, and blew out a smoke ring. "Dark."

Though Jak tried to hide it, Cale saw the haunted look in his friend's eyes. He knew what Jak was feeling- he too had felt the demon's nauseating touch, he too had felt his soul come loose from its moorings and begin to drift. It was terrifying.

Jak blew out a smoke ring and looked him in the face. The little man wore a concerned expression. "They're evil, Cale. Right? The ghouls, I mean. They used to be men, but now they're just evil."

To Cale, it sounded as though Jak were trying to convince himself. Cale had not bothered with the niceties of distinguishing good from evil. Yrsillar had hurt his family, had hurt him. As far as he was concerned, anything that got in the way was fair game. Still, he wanted to put his friend's mind at ease. Jak did concern himself with distinguishing good from evil, and he needed to know that whatever they did in that guildhouse was right.

"They're evil," Cale said with an unequivocal nod. "And they aren't men anymore. Well be doing them a favor."

Jak gave a soft nod, then blew out another smoke ring.

"You sure you're capable of this now?" Cale asked. "I'd understand if-"

"I'm in, Cale," Jak reassured him. "I'm in." He took a deep, thoughtful draw on his pipe. "But if we're not moving on this until tomorrow, we should involve Brelgin. One day is enough time for him to gather some manpower. We've got some good operators in the organization, Cale. We could-"

Cale raised his hand to cut Jak off. "The Harpers aren't helping."

The little man's chatter instantly stopped and his mouth hung open in disbelief. "What?"

"They're not helping."

"But it's a demon!" Jak protested.

Cale found it odd to be defending Brelgin but did it nevertheless. "He knows it's a demon. I told him everything I told you. I think he would help if he could, but the organization can't spare the men or resources."

They're sparing me!"

Cale smiled. "I think he knows that you'd come with me no matter what he said."

"No. This is between Yrsillar and me," Gale grimly pronounced. "Ill leave word for Brelgin as to the location of the guildhouse. If we fail, he can do whatever he sees fit."

Jak nodded slowly. Thoughtful, he pulled from his shirt pocket a platinum, jewel encrusted cloak pin and rubbed it between his fingers. "It was only chance that I was there that night. In the Soargyl manse, I mean." He held up the cloak pin for Gale to see-it was in the shape of an eagle's talon, with a single tourmaline inset. Gale's mind appraised it automatically-one hundred fivestars, or thereabouts.

"This is what I went to get," Jak said. "But what I took out of there was the memory of what that demon did to the Soargyls. Gods Gale, 111 never forget his face while that thing ate his soul…" He fought off a round of the shudders and looked across the table. His green eyes burned with intensity. "We do this your way."

Gale nodded, pleased that the little man understood. He considered telling Jak about Yrsillar's reference to the other, but decided against it. If Mask was working through the two of them, then Gale and Jak would have to deal with it when the situation arose. There was no reason to burden Jak any further.

They sat in silence for a time. Gale picked at the crumbs of his dinner. Jak balanced his chair on its rear two legs, crossed his hands over his head, smoked his pipe, and studied the ceiling.

Abruptly, as though he had reached some sort of decision, the little man leaned forward, let the chair legs thump against the floor, and snuffed his pipe.

"Let's get out of here, Erevis." Without explanation, Jak rose and threw on his gray cloak.

Surprised, Gale did likewise. "Where to?"

"I don't care, but I can't stay here anymore."

Gale asked no questions. He led Jak out of the room, ttf› • Pa."! 6fTnmn through the residence hall, up the stairs, and back into the lending library. There, they found Brelgin and Priest Librarian Elaena seated at a desk, conversing softly. When they saw Jak, both looked up in surprise.

"Jak, I'm glad to see you up. What are you doing?" said Brelgin.

"Mister Gale," accused the priest librarian, "you assured me he would remain bedridden until tomorrow."

Before Gale could respond, Jak reached inside his cloak and removed something from an inner pocket. He set it down on the table with a smack.

When he removed his small hand, Gale saw the item-a silver pin in the shape of an exquisite harp. The symbol of Jak's membership in the Harpers.

"He's my best Mend, Brelgin. If we can't help him, then we no longer includes me. I'm out."

Without another word, Jak turned and walked out of the temple, a stunned Gale following and a speechless Brelgin left in their wake.